


A Matter of Survival

by DixieDale



Category: Clan O'Donnell - Fandom, Garrison's Gorillas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-09
Updated: 2018-06-09
Packaged: 2019-05-19 20:47:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14880927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DixieDale/pseuds/DixieDale
Summary: There was the whistling whine, an almighty big boom!, crash!, and assorted thuds and clatters and rattles, and a huge cloud of dust, various cries and shouts, then, except for the occasional patter of more dust and dirt, debris settling, there was silence inside the Mansion.  Dead silence.  Had it been those extra few celebratory drinks up at the Air Base?  Was it a mechanical malfunction, maybe pilot error?  Does it really matter when someone drops a bomb on top of you??  No, at that point, the only thing that matters is surviving.





	A Matter of Survival

They were headed south, then east, toward the Channel, then on to their target. They'd not been long in England. They had all trained together, at a base in the States, and laughed and bragged how the war would soon be over after they strapped on one of those planes and got to work, that THEY'D show those Brits just how it was done! They'd trained together, worked together, drank together, whored together. They'd arrived in England full of piss and vinegar and bravado, and eagerly awaited their first takeoff.

They'd had a few drinks last night, to celebrate finally getting into the fight; well, maybe they'd had more than a few drinks, despite the regulations, and more than one of them had a head that was pounding and no longer so eager to step into that airplane and go to work. Still, the job had to be done, and it was what they'd been waiting for, so in they went, then up they went, and on they flew.

Who knows whether one or two drinks less would have made the difference or whether it was a mechanical malfunction, or maybe just fate. Just, somehow, while still over the south of England, over the little village of Brandonshire, the bay in the last plane overhead opened and the first bomb in the line rushed downward.

The pilot turned dead white at the lurch, knowing what it meant, knowing where they were, or rather, where they weren't, which was away from England! He thought about losing his breakfast, til he remembered he hadn't any. With a shaking hand, he keyed the control that would let his team leader know he'd just successfully bombed, well, something, and and listened as his career flew downward, right after that bomb, even, as he looked down and back, saw it go up in smoke and flames, wondering what, who had gone up with it. Luckily, if you want to call any part of this luck, the aircraft were of the smaller type, not Lancasters, not the heaviest of the bombers. Still, landing in the side courtyard of a stately home, it made a more than significant impact.

There was the whistling whine, an almighty big boom!, crash!, and assorted thuds and clatters and rattles, and a huge cloud of dust, various cries and shouts, then, except for the occasional patter of more dust and dirt, debris settling, there was silence. Dead silence. 

Not ten minutes before, it had not been silent. It had been a cacophony of angry voices, arguing, placing blame, trying to outshout each other. The mission had been successful; they'd done what they went in to do, and gotten back out again, but only by the skin of their teeth, and any number of things had gone wrong. Well, in any mission, SOMETHING is likely to go wrong, someone likely to take a misstep, make an error in judgement. This mission, well, this time, everybody had botched something or the other.

Lieutenant Craig Garrison rubbed his aching head, and tried to keep his cool. In his opinion, them getting back in one piece, relatively speaking, had been a miracle. He took a good look around; relatively was the word. There wasn't a one who wasn't bearing some mark or bandage, evidence of the ordeal, and their angry recriminations were partly a reflection on that.

Chief had heard from the others about stealing a car with only half a tank of gas, even though, as he'd said, the gauge was broken, so how was he to know!

Goniff had his sticky fingers lambasted for pulling that guard down on them, him having been unable to resist making a go for that sparkly gold encrusted crystal swan. A swan, for pity's sake; what the hell had he wanted with a swan??! They'd never know; a sullen frown had been the little thief's only response to their harranging.

Actor was now the one bearing the brunt of the accusations, for allowing himself to be distracted by that elegant bit of womanhood, him giving as good as he got, responding with counter-accusations.

Casino would be up next, about dropping that piece of equipment which brought those LAST two soldiers into the mix, and you could already see him gearing up for the defense.

Garrison shouted, loud, forcefully, "Alright! Listen up! Yeah, he screwed up! Everyone one of you screwed up!" Their angry faces were now directed at him, and he added one more thing, thinking back to that fast talking line of patter their contact had deluded him with, "including me! But it's over. It's done. We made it back. Let's figure out how to keep it from happening again," and saw the tension in those tight faces start to relax just a little. 

The problem was, Garrison KNEW what had caused the errors this time, or at least greatly contributed to them, and it wasn't something the guys could fix. Too many missions, too close together, injuries not yet healed from previous missions before heading out again, bad intel, supplies not being where they were supposed to be, exit transport not being where it was supposed to be, when it was supposed to be there; none of that was their fault. He knew that, they knew that, but the frustration was getting overwhelming, and when the bullets were flying, well, knowing it wasn't their fault wasn't particularly helpful. All of that combined meant their concentration wasn't at peak level, any more than their bodies, and their judgement was somewhat suspect. He knew all that, they knew all that, and still they fought to get the job done; but the emotional fallout, no matter how they'd fight such a term being used, that's what it was, the emotional fallout left everyone ready to do battle with anyone and anything.

Especially when they actually got the mission accomplished, and some yahoo up in HQ took it upon himself to offer his opinion as to how they could have done better, and started to enumerate their 'deficiencies', as he saw them. Oh, not Garrison's, of course, not to a fellow officer; but the team, the men under his command, obviously the ninety-day wonder figured they were fair game. And he'd even had the nerve to do that, standing there in his nice clean, crisp uniform, the well fed SOB of a desk officer, while they were still dirty and tired and hungry, still bruised, blood showing, since they'd had no relief since they'd gotten back, just straight into the debriefing, no medical care, not even coffee or sandwiches to tide them over. 

Garrison still wasn't sure how he'd gotten his team out of there without blood being spilt. Well, that wasn't really how it was, he ruefully admitted to himself. Actor was more responsible for that. He himself was a bit embarrassed that it was Actor and Chief holding him back, and Goniff latching onto Casino's right arm that allowed that to happen. Casino's reaction was understandable and expected; he was a notable hothead - Garrison was supposed to have a little more control.

He had to stifle just a little chuckle, remembering the look on that Lieutenant's face, when he realized his sneer and taunts would NOT go unanswered, not by the men, not by their leader, {"he backpeddled all the way across the room; wouldn't be surprised if he had to go check and see if he had a spare pair of uniform pants! Maybe Meghada is wearing off on me."} The fact that he wasn't sure that was a bad thing, well, that just showed how much he'd changed since he'd started leading this team. He knew he'd be in for some good natured teasing from the guys after everything calmed down; he also knew they appreciated his sticking up for them; he was one of the few who would.

"Come on, guys, let's have a drink, sit back and just relax for a few minutes," and he found no one objecting to that. He poured the good whiskey (actually good whiskey, since it was a gift from Meghada, not what the military felt suitable to issue to them - what the young woman called 'not quite whiskey, but not totally undrinkable - at least, it probably won't poison you!', though she'd said that with a somewhat doubtful look and a very realistic shudder) into the mismatched glasses, and they collected their glass and returned to where they'd been. They all took a sip, then another. They were still separated, each in their own space around the room, a visible indication of that altercation, but they were just starting to give slightly sheepish glances at each other, Chief even moving from his perch at the window to make his way over to one of the chairs closer to the round table, when they hear the bombers overhead. Goniff looked apprehensive, rolling his eyes upwards, and Actor scoffed at him, "Goniff, those are Allied planes, not . . ." and then they heard that whistle, the roar, the sirens, the crash, then . . . nothing.

Gil Rawlins was at the guardhouse, giving out the assignments for the next week when he heard the planes, then that whistling noise that always made his blood chill.

"Take cover!" he yelled, though not sure how much good that would do this late in the game. He heard the crash, the explosion, and as soon as the dust cleared, ran to see what damage had been done. He stood stock still in the courtyard, gulped, and said in an amazingly small, prayerful voice, "Oh my God!"

From the front courtyard, he could see what remained of the side courtyard and shed and trees, which was damned near nothing. A huge crater replaced that broad stone base, with smoke and flames rising from it. He raised his eyes fearfully, seeing the huge oak, now fragmented, leaning against what remained of that wing of the house, seeing the shattered windows, the crumpled roof and wall only partly in evidence anymore.

"The Common Room, the dorm, that's where . . . Oh my God!" The whisper now became an anguished cri di coeur.

"Quick, you, you, and you; come with me. The rest of you, divide into teams of three, half of you start making sure the fire doesn't spread; the rest, hold yourselves ready once I find out what we have inside. Private Jenkins, get a jeep; go to the village, tell Ben Miller we'll need help up here; let Dr Riley know, and oh my God! stop by the Cottage, tell the O'Donnell lass what's happened; she needs to know, and we'll likely need her, and that little dog of hers!"

Like a colony of scattering ants, they all rushed in their own directions. Well, except for one of the newer guards, who took a moment to comment in some confusion to Private Perkins, "we're supposed to be guarding this lot, I understand that, but he seems, well, awful upset about a bunch of convicts; I mean, like was PERSONAL, you know? Though maybe the Lieutenant was in there too," he added, as if giving the Sergeant Major an excuse for getting so upset.

Perkins looked at him with disgust, "any one of those men are worth worrying for, a good lot they are! And the Sergeant Major would most likely worry even if it was YOU, you slacker! Now, get to it, put out that fire!" With a wounded look, the new guard hurried toward the blazes, {"now, don't know that that was called for!"} he pouted as he went.

***

He opened his eyes to darkness, and as the faint moonlight came in through the shattered windows and the gap in the roof, he started to make out shadows, and dark shapes, and the misting dust floating in the air. He wiped the dirt out of his eyes and tried taking a deep breath. When that worked, he tried moving, only to find that wasn't so easy; something was pinning him down. He didn't hurt, really hurt anyway, though he was sure he'd find himself black and blue later. He listened; he could hear faint breathing, some even fainter moans. He checked the sheath on his arm; it was intact, the blade secure; that was always his first instinct; he just felt more capable of dealing with life, knowing it was there. He drew breath to call out, only to choke on the dust remaining in the air.

A voice, shaken, faltering, came out of the darkness, "who . . ." and stopped, whether for lack of air, out of pain, or perhaps out of fear of what he would learn.

"That you, Actor?" Chief grated out.

"Yes, are you alright, Chief? What of the others?"

"I'm alright, I think; somethings on top of me; I'm tryin to pull myself out. I don't know about the others. What about you?" and swallowed a curse to hear, "I think my leg is broken; it feels like it, and I am pinned down. I think the tall bookcase closest to the windows."

Chief called out, "Warden? Casino? Goniff?" and a faint "I'm here, Chief. I'm fine."

Actor gave a humpph of doubt, and Chief agreed. With Garrison, it was always 'I'm fine'; it took an act of God to get him to admit he was hurt, or how badly, so that answer didn't tell them one hell of a lot other than he was alive and conscious.

"Any idea where Casino or Goniff are?" Garrison asked, trying to get a grip on the situation, which would have been easier if he'd had a clue what the situation WAS.

"Casino was closest to Actor, to his right. Goniff was perched on the back of that chair, at the far side of the fireplace, toward the hallway" Chief answered.

They heard the scuffling sound as Garrison started pulling himself across the floor. It seemed like forever, but finally, "got him! Casino, Casino, can you hear me?" getting only a hoarse moan in response. "He has a head wound, can't tell how serious, but blood everywhere. There's not much light over here, can't see anything else." They heard the ripping sound as Garrison shredded something to bind that bleeding wound.

Soon the scuffling sound began again, and they heard, "Goniff? Goniff!" Then a long silence. "Goniff, damn it, you answer me, do you hear me!! That's an order!"

Actor heard the underlying desperation in Garrison's voice, and winced in sympathy. All of the men were important to Craig Garrison; they were family, not just team members anymore. Goniff, though, he was, well, family certainly, but also something more. They heard a gasp from Garrison, and Actor called out, 'Craig?" afraid of the pain in that voice, at perhaps what he had found.

"No, I haven't found him; just sliced my hand on something."

"Then wrap it in something, now."

"I've got to . . . ".

"NOW, Craig. You won't do him, any of us any good if you bleed to death. Wrap it!"

They heard the fumbling, right along with those low curses, as he followed orders for a change.

It was with a huge sigh of relief from everyone, well, except for Casino who was still unconscious, when a faint, muffled voice came through the dust and darkness, "ei, Craig, who turned out the ruddy lights??! And who did we piss off that flies one a them birds with the big eggs?"

Actor and Chief restrained a relieved laugh; only something like a bomb would have let the little Cockney break his self-imposed discipline enough to call Garrison 'Craig'; he made a point of never doing that, except probably at the Cottage, since they couldn't quite image him being so formal in that setting. But elsewhere, it was always 'Warden' or 'Lieutenant'.

The relief in Garrison's voice was raw, "Goniff, where the hell are you?!"

"Now, 'ow the ruddy 'ell am I supposed to know that??!"

Garrison sighed and shook his head.

"Which side are the windows from where you are," he prompted, and that relief turned to fear again when he heard, "can't tell; it's pitch black in 'ere, in case you 'aven't noticed! Couldn't see my 'and in front of my face, if I could GET my 'and in front of my face, which I ruddy well can't!"

He and Actor and Chief glanced at the windows, where now bright moonlight was shining through; while they might not be able to see much of the room, the windows, the moonlight, that was most obvious.

"Alright, Goniff, just keep talking; I'll try to get to you," and the voice was now husky.

"Nah, get to the others; do you know if they're alright?" and that surprised no one, Goniff being the resolute Mother Hen of the team.

"Chief's alright, just pinned down. Actor's pinned down, probably a broken leg. Casino's unconscious; I tied him up where he was bleeding. Now where . . ."

And the voice was more firm, slightly exasperated, "think, Craig, stop reacting! YOU'RE supposed to be the 'eavy thinker around 'ere! Go get Chiefy out; 'e can 'elp you get Actor out from whatever is on top of 'im. THEY can 'elp Casino. THEN you can come pitty patting around looking for me!" and Actor shook his head, thinking once again just how many faces the slight Englishman had to him.

Garrison started to retort angrily, but realized that made a lot of sense. It wasn't what he WANTED to do; no, finding Goniff was uppermost in his wants, but that really wasn't the most sensible. Getting Chief free, where he could help with Actor, and then maybe help search for Goniff, that made sense.

Still, that 'it's pitch black' scared him, right to the bone, thinking of those blue eyes, the eyes that saw everything, never missed the slightest detail; eyes that saw HIM, and in him, saw more than anyone else had ever seen, saw and accepted - saw and loved. Garrison took a deep breath, steadying himself.

He took another look at those windows, moonlight steaming in relentlessly, and answered. "Alright, Goniff, have it your way. Chief, where are you? Talk so I can get a reading," getting the reply and making the slow crawl over to where the young man lay under what felt like another of the bookcases. Considering what Actor had said, Craig though to himself, ruefully, {"never thought of it before, but this room might just have too damned many bookcases!"}. With the two of them working together, it didn't take long before Chief and Garrison were both headed to Actor; him they could actually see, now, the moonlight streaming over his prone body.

"Yeah, it's a bookcase alright. Ya ever think maybe . . ." and Garrison finished for him, "that we might just have too many bookcases in here? Yeah, that thought has just occured to me!" and they were relieved to hear the slight laugh from the Italian. Together they were able to lift, shove the bookcase aside, and Craig made quick work of checking for injuries.

"You got lucky; I don't think it's broken, but you're going to be plenty sore!"

"Can you move me over to where Casino is? Perhaps I can help there, while you two look for Goniff." And so it was. It was not an easy trip, with the debris scattered around, and it took time, but finally Actor was settled down next to the safecracker, gently trying to check him for injuries.

Settling back on his heels, Garrison took a deep breath of the dust-filled air, trying not to choke.

"Alright, we did it your way, now it's your turn. Talk to me, Goniff." The silence was appalling. "Damn it, Goniff! You answer me, do you hear me??!" When there was no response, his voice raised,"I'm gonna tell Meghada on you if you don't answer me, right now!, and you know how she gets!!" There was a long silence.

The very faint chuckle that finally came in answer was music to their ears, "well ... don't want that... to 'appen, now .... do we?" And while the voice was pained, breathless, and hardly more than a distant, muffled whisper, it was enough to give them a bearing, enough to start. It took more urgings, more out and out threats to keep him talking to them, at least enough to let them find him, almost fully covered in debris. Garrison pulled off piece after piece, having to go slow to prevent anything falling further, causing him more harm, Chief easing those pieces back and out of the way. Finally, they reached him, and Garrison heaved a huge sigh of relief; from where the slight blond was laying, face down, with the heavy chair and table between him and the window, the debris on top of him, and balanced over him, he COULDN'T have seen the windows or the moonlight!

"Alright, now, let's see how bad it is," he said, his throat closing in on him. His hands were almost steady, if not quite; well, no one would have expected that anyway, after everything that had happened. When they had determined the pickpocket had sustained only relatively minor injuries, relative based on the fact that they'd had a bomb dropped on them anyway, that his difficulty in speaking, or even breathing was the result of the debris blocking off the air to the cubby hole he had ended up in, his face pressed into the back of the chair he'd been perched on, and the dust trapped in there with him, they carefully helped him over closer to Casino and Actor.

"Oi, never so glad to see a mess like this in my life; thought . . . Well, just glad to see it, is all," his own voice much more raspy than usual, and no one noticed, or at least pretended not to notice the warm grip on his shoulder, the quick touch of one blond head bent against the flaxen one.

"W'at's up with Casino, Actor?" came the worried voice, and Chief smiled a little. {"Mother Hen is back!"} 

Chief and Garrison made a determined sortie, searching for blankets, which they found stacked in the corner, though in limited quantity and of the smaller sizes as they were only meant to throw over a lap or around the shoulders when the men were playing cards or talking late, and the top one useless because of the shattered glass and debris covering it, and anything else that could prove useful, of which there was nothing. It would be foolish to try and make their way out til daylight, when they could see better.

They had no idea of the time; it had been 9pm when they'd started their debriefing, maybe a quarter hour later when the bomb hit, but who knew how long they'd been unconscious. The shouts from Gil Rawlins had been answered, much to the non-com's relief, so those outside knew the team was still alive anyway.

Garrison could hear distant voices for awhile from those battling the last of the fires, then nothing; well, that made sense; anyone attempting to find them would have to wait for first light as well. While the moonlight showed through the windows, it also showed the jagged glass and metal and stone, all just waiting for them to get careless. Even those blankets, even with them avoiding that top one, pushing it to the side, even those remaining had enough slivers embedded that there were a few nicks and curses as the men shifted positions.

In the cold of the night, the damp air surrounding them, they huddled together, sharing warmth, sharing comfort. It was purely by accident, of course, that the pickpocket ended up with Garrison cradled to his back. After all, Chief and Actor were sandwiched around Casino, trying to keep him warm; Goniff was at Chief's back, then Garrison, and together, if the night wasn't comfortable, well, it was a lot better than it could have been. That thought ran through each of their minds.

The thought reemerged when they heard that cranky voice, silent since the blast. "What the hell??! Why's everyone laying on top a me? Sheesh! You guys!" and their faint laughter of relief got an even more annoyed response from the awakened safecracker.

"Just settle down and go back to sleep, Casino. We'll explain in the morning," and Garrison moved closer to the body in front of him, arms encircling that slender waist tightly, possessively, now feeling the pickpocket's arms resting on top of his, glad for the darkness and the opportunity to express his relief that the worst hadn't happened, nor the next worse, or even . . . He fell asleep thinking of all the bad things that HADN'T happened, and counted his blessings. 

It was the cold nose that woke him; that and the eager tongue that licked his face once while passing on to the one who held first place in that small heart.

"Ei, Max, leave off! That tickles," came as a sleepy murmer, then an enthusiastic, "MAX??! Craig, wake up. Max's 'ere, Meghada won't be far behind." Garrison blinked the sleep out of his eyes, to the sight of a small black and white dog standing on Goniff's body, nosing him enthusiastically.

"Good morning, Max," Garrison rasped, after he swallowed heavily, "where's your lady?"

"I'm, we're in the hallway, Craig, trying to make our way through to you. Anything I need to know before we come through?" Craig shook his head; yeah, that was Meghada, the clear thinker, well, most of the time anyway; the rest of the time, when she just reacted? Well, at least this wasn't one of those times; he'd experienced all the explosions and such that he wanted to for awhile.

"Junk everywhere, part of the roof and wall, I think, broken glass, metal sticking out in odd places. Blood poisoning or worse just waiting to happen. Be careful! Someone could get an artery sliced real easy. Hope you brought Doc Riley with you."

"Well, of course I'm here, Lieutenant," came a calm, steady voice. "Now, let these men get you all out of there, and into someplace better suited, and I'll take a look."

The doctor had recently experienced an accident of his own, with a resulting broken leg, and was on crutches, obviously not able to manoeuvre the nightmare of debris between him and the team. Garrison imagined someone would have had to carry the doctor up the stairs in the first place.

Sergeant Major Gil Rawlins was one of the first to reach the men, and a battered and bloody lot they were. Still, they were alive, and conscious, and together, and to his mind, looking around the room which looked, not too surprisingly, like a bomb had gone off nearby, that was pretty much a miracle.

"Alright, men, let's get them out of 'ere; careful now, easy does it," and one by one, the men were taken down the hall to Garrison's bedroom, by some miracle not damaged besides the windows being shattered.

"Private Wilson, Corporal Davis, find something and get those windows boarded up; enough cold air in 'ere as it is, and rain coming on!"

"Gil, that's fine, that needs to be done; but they aren't staying here; you know they can't! Who know how much damage the house took, what else could happen! And you and your people too. If you have to guard the place, yes, I realize you do! But from the gate house, and maybe from covered vehicles in the drives. NOT out in the open air, breathing in all that muck still floating around, and not in a building that might, for all we know, come tumbling down, in pieces or all at once!"

There was no give in her voice, and although she was not military, and had no official position, even Sergeant Major Gil Rawlins knew better than to argue, especially when she was making perfect sense. He sighed with resignation, "alright then, where do they go? No, don't tell me; you KNOW what the Brass is going to say if they end up down at the Cottage."

She snarled, her distinctive snarl that had just a touch of a hiss underneath.

{"Coo, I ruddy well love that sound! Makes me get all 'ot and edgy!"} and Garrison looked over at the pickpocket, took in that one eyebrow arching and the mouth following suit, pretty much read his mind, and tried to refrain from a grin, not too successfully. Anyway, that snarl kinda did the same for him anymore.

"The Brass can just . . ."

"Meghada, that's not too likely! They're just not that flexible! We all know that! And I wouldn't want to witness it if they tried," Garrison protested, to the joined laughter of his team, Dr. Riley, and more than a few of the guards present. Gil Rawlins refrained from laughing, but the grin on his face showed he'd not been far from it.

Ben Miller spoke up from the background, "I'm more than willing to make it official, as village constable, that the Mansion cannot be inhabited til a thorough inspection is given, as a matter of public safety, and that I asked Lieutenant Garrison and his men to stay close at hand, them being the direct witnesses of what happened here last night! I think I might suggest the Cottage; I believe the owner might be willing to allow that; there's beds enough there, well, I think probably beds and cots, and if not, more can certainly be brought in, and we wouldn't want to spread the men out all rounst the town, without adequate supervision, now would we?" all with a most official air, but with a sly grin tickling at the edge of his mouth. 

And so it was, after Dr. Riley did his preliminary treatment, vehicles were brought, and help given, and the men delivered to the Cottage, there to be settled into the various beds and cots as directed by the lady in charge. And if Goniff ended up in her bed, "I'll set up a cot in the sitting room," not that many really believed that she would actually be sleeping there, and if Lieutenant Garrison ended up in the library, just the next room over, on the daybed in there, that was quite understandable, especially when that pocket door was just not too apparent to the casual eye. After all, the library had the desk and anyone knowing Garrison would know he'd be back to his reports and translating as soon as possible. And, her bed, her bedroom, was the closest to the kitchen, and "where ELSE would Goniff be cept right next to the food?" Casino had the energy to comment.

Casino and Actor and Chief all shared the middle cottage; there were only two beds, but a oversized wooden cot was brought in from the last cottage. They'd arrange to dismantle and move in the other bed as soon as time could be spared. Right now, getting them settled, letting them rest, that was more important. It would be a bit cramped, but none of the three wanted to be alone, not after that ordeal, not that anyone necessarily said that out loud.

And so between Dr. AJ Riley, and Sheila Riley, and of course, Meghada, the lads were all tended and cossetted and pampered as much as they could have asked. Even old Mrs. Wilson had come by, "just to see how the dear boys are doing," making them all just a little uncomfortable, but equally gratified, with her patting their heads, cooing at them, and generally treating them like toddlers who'd fallen and scraped their knees.

"She ain't gonna do that all the time, is she??" came from more than one of them, in different words, but similar sentiments. They were all used to being thought of as tough, dangerous, untrustworthy, disreputable and worse by most of the people they ran into; well, that used to be the case, and still was with those who didn't know them. They might not like that very much, but this being treated like slightly naughty but much beloved grandchildren was a novelty, and they weren't quite sure how to take it either.

Meghada managed to keep from laughing, at least in their presence, but during that last visit, she made a rather hasty trip to the back of the garden when she couldn't hold in the giggles any longer. The sly wink and grin Mrs. Wilson had given her on the way out, well, that just started her up again, til she got the hiccups and almost strangled.

The inspectors still hadn't come to check the Mansion, and everyone just stayed put. Sergeant Major Rawlins and his two most trusted privates, Perkins and Jenkins, made a very careful trip into the Mansion, pulling out maps and whatever else Garrison had said he needed, and now the library was getting a little crowded as well. Enough he started using the daybed for laying out paperwork, which meant he had to find somewhere else to sleep. At least that was the excuse the three of them gave each other, with a shared grin.

"Wouldn't want to 'inder the war effort, now would we, just for our own comfort?" came as a particularly sly note from the resident pickpocket, a wrenched knee keeping him enthroned in his position in the middle of that wide bed in the first cottage.

HQ had called, wanting Garrison in London to be briefed on a mission the guys were to head out on in two days, but the stern lecture they received from Dr. Riley had an impact, as did the less stern but much more vehement reaction from the Dragon.

Private Ames, acting as temporary Aide to Major Kevin Richards, on the other end of that call, after it was over, looked down at the receiver in his hand, just to reassure himself it hadn't melted; he wouldn't have been surprised to find it otherwise. He knew he'd be checking his ear for a bit of blistering around the edges.

Major Richards himself came down to survey the damage and to take stock, being told of the situation and the reaction by the local doctor and the former contract agent at the idea of the men heading back out again immediately. Richards had sighed deeply, {"probably going to have to request another Aide; a pity. That newest one, young Ames, has promise, but this might have put paid to him! Maybe not, though; he seemed more impressed at the defense she put up than offended at her attitude. If he sticks around after that, he might be worth training."} The private's final words as Richards was headed out indicated that might be a strong possibility.

"I'd like to meet her someday; reminds me of my mother, she does," looking with totally innocent, earnest eyes at the incredulous look he was getting from Major Richards. "Well, she does; and I've read her file, sir; sounds just LIKE my mother - all quiet and reliable, steady and mild as all get out, til someone tries to mess with her or one of the family, or someone else she cares for; then, it's like one o them hurricanes I've heard tell about; all storm and wind and things flying about, and when it's all over, not much left to tell the tale!"

Richards snorted, remembering that. {"If he looks on that as a good thing, then maybe he IS worth keeping around,"} making a note to actually introduce the young man to Meghada as he'd requested, never guessing that introduction would be the start of another chapter in the Family and Friends story, one where young Private Jeffrey Ames and Ian O'Donnell would meet and . . Well, that's another story.

Luckily they'd had some warning, at least enough time to get Craig set up in the library where he was supposed to be staying, anyway, the daybed cleared of the stacks of papers, looking more like it was being occupied. Her robe had been transferred to the most casually telling position across the end of that cot in the sitting room, the stage being set for the most appropriate impact.

Richards had gone by the Mansion first, and looked at the huge cavern, the broken and wrenched roof, the collapsed wall and shattered windows, the corpse of that huge tree. He felt the presence of someone at his shoulder, and glanced over.

"It was a close call," he said quietly, to which Sergeant Major Rawlins gave a bit of a snort.

"Any closer, we'd 'ave been digging graves, Major. Come on, I think you need to see the room they were caught in."

And he led the Major up the warped stairs, through the hallway still littered with debris and halted at the doorway to the Common Room. Richards stood and looked, and in little more than a whisper, "how the hell did they all survive?"

"They 'ad each other, they found and looked after each other, tended each other. No one tried to get out on their own; found them all 'uddled together, under what covers they could find, the Lieutenant right along side them. Easily enough could 'ave found them otherwise, you know. They're quite a bunch of lads, Major, something special. Still and all, they were damn lucky!" and looking at the mass destruction in front of him, Richards could only agree.

"The doctor says they're not fit to go out yet," he said, with a note of inquiry in his voice.

"Don't see 'ow they could be. They survived, but they took damage that'll take a bit to mend, and were already in poor enough shape coming back off that mission, and to my mind, weren't fit to even be SENT on that mission," knowing that opinion wouldn't be welcome, but just tired and frustrated enough not to care so very much.

"Sergeant Major, HQ isn't happy with them being in civilian quarters; they're after me to move them to the Base," and Gil gave a sound that made Richards look at him in surprise. {"He almost sounded like the Dragon there for a minute!"}

"You know 'ow those on the Base think about the team, sir. Won't be nothing but trouble, and they're in no condition to fend off any that wants to take them on right now, and you know there's some that will, thinking this is a fine opportunity, in fact. They're fine where they are, sir, to my mind, better than fine. She knows what she's about, and since she used to run in your string, surely she's not so much a civilian as most."

Richards and the Sergeant Major exchanged a rueful smile, knowing Meghada only 'sort of' ran in Richards' string, 'sort of' like Garrison and his team did. Still, it made sense, 'sort of'; was enough of an argument he thought he could get by with, at least when added to his report and the recommendations by the local doctor and constable. He nodded, and they made their way back down.

Richards took another look at the damage, that huge crater, and heard Rawlins hesitantly ask, "sir, that wasn't a Jerry plane, not from the sound. Any idea what 'appened?"

A huge sigh from Major Richards, "a group headed to France, one of the planes had a mishap."

Gil looked at the mess in front of them, "a 'mishap', sir?" with an odd note in his voice. To him that had the sound of someone dropping a coffee cup, not what he saw in front of him.

"Yes, well, that's what they're calling it. I'm leaving it to them to explain to the Ministry about the damage."

"They'll try to blame it on the lads, most like," Gil said gloomily.

Richards took another look, "Sergeant Major, not even Garrison's team could . . ." He thought better of what he was going to say, especially in the face of the reluctant grin coming across Rawlins' face. Richards tried to smother the snort that just couldn't be held back, "well, in any case, I've made my report as to just who and what was to blame, so at least THIS time, they're in the clear. Now, I'd best go and pay them a visit, so I can assure the powers that be that they aren't malingering!" And he climbed into his car and drove off.

Rawlins quickly strode to the gate tower, grabbing the phone and dialed a number. When it was answered, he spoke rapidly, "Richards is on 'is way, maybe four minutes out; better make sure everythings in order, lass!" and hung up. {"Yes, wouldn't do to 'ave the Major walk in on any little, well, domestic scenes, would it?"} and he smiled just a tiny smile.

So it was that when Major Kevin Richards walked through that kitchen door, he found Goniff in an oversized denim blue flannel shirt, tucked up in Meghada's unusually wide bed, a mass of pillows behind him, warm quilt snugged over him, a deck of cards beside him, that little black and white dog of Meghada's curled up beside him as well.

Max raised his head and gave Richards an amazingly speculative look, cool and appraising, a slight twitch to his lips, not baring his teeth, but still making it known he COULD, if Richards made a wrong move; Richards remembered getting a similar look from the little pickpocket on more than one occasion. {"Little and feisty, the pair of them!"} Richards thought. Goniff raised an amused eyebrow, knowing what Richards was thinking, and somehow that look, Kevin Richards wondered if that second word was really the best choice; he'd maybe think on it sometime, see if there was something that better suited.

Richards glanced around, never having been in this room, and spared a thought for that bed, {"odd proportions, almost square, far too big, takes up too much space, looks totally out of place in a cottage; would probably look out of place even in a larger room. Good grief, you could fit at least. . ."} and caught his breath and told his mind, quite sternly, to behave itself! The slender Englishman was looking amazingly at home (enough to make Richards more than a little uncomfortable, especially with that twitch on the pickpocket's face; it almost seemed smug, though how that could be, he didn't know), small table pulled to the bedside, mug of tea and a small plate containing only crumbs now, but indicating where some treat or the other had recently been. The only thing he thought out of place was a book, the spine just peaking out of the covers, like it had been hastily hidden. {"Jean-Paul Sarte?? Really?? Surely not!"}. He started to look again, but now the covers were in place, the book out of sight, if it had ever been there to begin with. {"Had to be mistaken, certainly!"}

Moving back to the rest of the cottage, he could see a cot set out in the sitting room, neatly made, though with the pillow slightly askew, and her robe thrown casually across the end. Garrison was leaning forward in a big armchair in the library, pulled up to the desk, translating reports, looking suitably battered and bruised, which he in truth was. A cup of coffee, steam still rising, was on the desk as well. The daybed along the wall was made up, but rumpled enough to show it had been used earlier, the copy of a book by Peter Paret's, 'Makers of Modern Strategy' making perfect sense, well certainly more than what he'd thought he'd seen in the other room. When Garrison got up, slowly and painfully, to greet him, Richards noted the young officer was listing slightly to one side, and motioned him to resume his seat. He took a full report from Garrison, seating himself in the straight backed chair from the corner.

Later, saying he wanted to pay his respects, he let Meghada lead him to the middle cottage, where he found Casino stretched out in one of the beds, bandages at his head and around one shoulder and arm, cocooned in warm covers, half-drowsing; Chief with bruises aplenty showing even on his dark skin settled in a big chair next to the window, chess set on a small table in front of him, warm throw cushioning the back of the chair, another across his knees; and Actor sitting up against the headboard of the other bed, fully dressed, his leg bandaged and stiff, but with a rumpled quilt next to him, ready to be pulled into place as needed. Here too were signs of coffee, some small midmorning tidbit either finished or close to being finished.

Laying aside the leather bound tome of Cicero in his hand, "Major, an honor. You've come to assure yourself we are still here? Wanting to see if we are up to jumping out of airplanes, perhaps taking on a battalion of the enemy, blowing up a few bridges, single handedly launching an assult on Berlin? Regretably, not quite yet, I'm afraid," came the polite, smiling inquiry from the tall Italian, though with only a modicum of warmth; the pain still evident in his dark brown eyes might have accounted for that lack of enthusiasm.

Richards smiled, rather more warmly, certainly not about to admit he was here to do exactly that, rather ashamed of that, actually, "hardly. Came to assure myself you all survived, and I'm most gratified to see that you did. Is Meghada doing well by you?" and the skeptical look he received from Casino and Chief at his words, he found almost amusing.

"Meghada is a perfect hostess, as you can well imagine. Charming and attentive, the very essence of solicitude and compassion; the epitome of the domestic virtues; all that could be expected, or desired," Actor replied, watching with some amusement the look that crossed Richards' face.

{"The Dragon - charming, attentive, domestic, the perfect hostess,"} Richards thought, and politely refrained from snorting.

"We are being well taken care of, Major, I assure you." Richards made a bit of small talk, it being rather strained, of course, then took his leave.

He made his way back to that first cottage and stepped in, paused, rethinking his former skepticism at the Italian's words, taking in the feeling of home. Not HIS home, but A home, a place of comfort and caring, without a doubt.

{"Soup and coffee hot and fresh on the stove, teapot at the ready, bread in the oven, things laid out to finish preparing the meal. Both cottages warm and welcoming, a great deal of attention being paid to the comfort and ease and interests and needs of each of these men. Perhaps Actor DID know what he was talking about; a pleasant place to be, most assuredly."}

He heard her voice in the next room, "I'll have something ready to eat before too long; bread's almost ready to come out of the oven, soup's ready whenever the rest is, I'm preparing cheese omelettes. And YES, of course, there'll be something sweet for afters; don't I usually make sure of that for you?" Richards had never heard her voice with quite that tone before, nor the one following.

"I DO like that shade of blue on you, you know? I'm glad that's the one Michael chose to leave behind. A trifle oversized, to be sure, but still. . . Max, scooch over a bit, let me . . .. Here, laddie, ease up a bit higher, yes, that has to be better," and a murmured response, too low for Richards to make out the words, but that brought a husky chuckle from her, and a matching one from the slender occupant of that wide bed.

She came out of the bedroom, a fond smile on her slightly pink face; if the smile changed to something different, still warm, but different, when she saw him, he tried not to feel wistful.

"Will you stay and eat, Kevin? You'd be welcome," she asked kindly. "One more makes little difference at this point, you know, another cup of broth into the soup, another couple of eggs to crack, that's all," and that smile changed to a wide, rather enchanting grin.

"No, I'll just have another few words with Garrison, then I'll be on my way. I'll keep them on standby til Dr. Riley releases them, if at all possible, and I'll reassure the Brass that the team is best off right where they are, and since you were Special Forces, and with quite a fierce reputation for keeping a firm line, you are the best person to handle them and maintain strict discipline."

He heard a snort from two different directions, from the bedroom and the library, and saw the look of pure amusement on the young woman's face. Still, that bit of malarkey was worth it when she reached up and kissed him on the cheek, "thank you, Kevin. We all appreciate it, and I assure you, I'll maintain a strict level of discipline and keep them firmly in hand." Somehow the rather wicked grin on her face and the even more wicked look in her eyes made him highly suspect of the way she had worded that little piece, and he knew that she knew that, because the grin spread, especially when they heard that delighted laugh from the bedroom, and the coughing from the office that he was sure was an attempt to cover up another laugh. He made his farewells and left, thinking that Cottage was a very good place to be, now more than a little wistful, perhaps a bit envious.

"So you intend to maintain a strict level of discipline, eh? 'Ere that, Craig? That should make you 'appy enough," his voice carrying easily to the next room, from which a laugh echoed.

"I heard! And it does!"

Goniff's voice lowered, now husky, intimate, the look on his face both enticing and promising, "and you're going to keep us firmly in 'and? I like the sound of that, I do. When do we get a sample of that, ei?" and ducked the playful swat of her hand, but not the kiss she landed with much more precision.

"After lunch, perhaps? After all, first things first," and the eager agreement from her always-hungry love, well, that brought out a laugh of her own. After all, she delighted in satisfying his appetites, all of them.


End file.
